Cars are not motorcycles, although they can be useful. When I need to move more than a motorbike can carry, or when it’s winter and it’s snowing on the road, or when I have to carry a passenger who doesn’t like riding there, a car is a tool. good for work.
But to enjoy the journey, most of the cars leave me wanting. Sitting behind locked doors and peering out through closed windows, car occupants miss clues about the outside world. The scent of wildflowers in full bloom, the sweetness of freshly cut hay, the shade of tobacco brewed in the stables, or the salty breath of the air near the ocean were all masked. Cars even offer driver and passenger comfort with the comforts of home: climate control, carpeting, courtesy lighting, reclining seats, and more.
In the car, you are inside the house looking out. You are in a cage. On a motorcycle, you are outdoors, part of the environment and experiencing what it feels like. While I was passing through the southwest Nova Scotia to Cape Breton, the coastal path didn’t always provide me with a view of the ocean, but the olfactory clues told me the tide was out. I also discovered what one meteorologist describes as the “smell of everything” as atmospheric pressure drops. Sure enough, the rain came when I was eating eggs, toast and coffee in a roadside diner. My riding gear is waterproof, so despite liking the sun, I didn’t let the rain ruin my ride.
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After breakfast, I continued east along the coast. The heavy and steady rain dropped my helmet, surrounding my head with a pop of corn. I dropped into the port town of Lunenburg, a sight to behold even in the rain, and followed the signs to the tourist welcome center, which certainly had toilets. After needing relief, I browsed through the traveling exhibits in the lobby. In the pouring rain, a sedan crashed into the parking lot. Four car doors swung open and slam shut, and the four rushed to the building. Two teenage girls arrived first, complaining about how wet they were. Their parents, attempting a gentle dip, joined in the chorus, but a look at me in drenched riding clothes made the father feel lucky.
“You must be soaked to the skin!” he say. I smiled and assured him I was dry underneath my ride.
“Really?” he answered. “So funny. You are riding on a motorcycle and you are dry. We were traveling in a car and we were drenched! “
I agreed; it to be fun. Even teenagers appreciate irony. I pointed out that the warm-air hand dryer in the restroom worked really well for drying clothes, and that the girls and their mothers had disappeared in the women’s restroom.
“Sorry I had to go in bad weather,” the father said.
“There’s really no bad weather,” I replied, “just bad gear for the weather you’re having.” He laughed and asked how it feels to ride a motorbike in the rain. I explained: “It’s really a lot like driving in the rain. “Visibility and traction decrease, braking distance increases, and you need to watch your speed. What’s different on a motorcycle is that you’re outdoors.” The father nodded and then entered the women’s premises.
A few minutes after returning, still waiting for his wife and daughter, he resumed the small talk. “So where are you going?”
“Halifax tonight,” I replied, “then Cape Breton.” That was his plan too. He would walk along the coastal path in search of beautiful scenery, but the fog and rain ruined that. I asked him if he noticed the smell of salt air along the shoreline or felt a change in temperature as the road moved closer to the water, or if he had smelled low tide or detected smell of everything before the rain came. He admits he didn’t notice that.
“That happens when you’re in the cage,” I said.
“ONE cage? ” he asks.
“Car.”
“Yes, a cage,” he chuckled. “I see. That’s funny too.”
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His wife and daughters came out of the ladies’ room with smiles and dry clothes, ready to continue their journey. I was dumbfounded, wondering how they could get in the car without getting wet. The father’s wry smile reveals what he’s thinking: His family will soon be back in their cage, isolated from the outside world in wet clothes, while the motorcyclist will carry all outdoors but dry in their belongings.
“Well, enjoy your trip,” the father waved. “I’m sure you will. You are not in a cage. “
